


Some Days You’re Thankful for What You’ve Got

by SweetStugLife



Series: A Cord of Three Strands [11]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Literal Sleeping Together, Multi, Other, Scents & Smells
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-11-26 04:11:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18175682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetStugLife/pseuds/SweetStugLife
Summary: I would like to watch you sleepingI would like to be that unnoticed& that necessaryPeggy comes home from a solo mission.





	Some Days You’re Thankful for What You’ve Got

**Author's Note:**

> Just a cute and sweet little Peggy POV ficlet, since I feel like I don’t spend enough time in her head. Takes place between chapters 2 and 3 of _Where the Day Begins_.
> 
> Inspired by [this](http://polyshipprompts.tumblr.com/post/183519527906/imagine-person-a-and-person-b-of-your-ot3-sleeping) prompt, [this](https://m.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/variation-word-sleep) poem, and [this](https://youtu.be/KqHxml_rKz4) song.
> 
> Uh... **tw for mentions of canon-typical violence** I guess.

“Hello?”

The softly-spoken greeting goes unanswered, half to Peggy’s relief and half to her mild disappointment. She opens the door wider than the crack she’d originally created, but only enough to slip herself inside, keeping as much of the hallway light out of the bedroom as she can. There’s more than enough illumination from the touch lamp, burning on the lowest setting, that they left on for her.

Waffles lifts her head from where she’s stretched at the foot of the mattress, and Peggy tiptoes forward to oblige her with a few scratches under her chin. Pancakes, as usual, is curled up in the slight depression between Steve’s hips and rib cage that’s created when he lies on his side, her nose tucked into her tail. Bucky lies beside them, on his back, with his metal hand resting on his stomach, and his flesh arm tucked under and curled around Steve’s neck.

Peggy smiles at them until Waffles flips over, displeased at having a hand rest so close to her neck for so long, and Peggy takes that as her cue to slip into their bathroom.

Peggy tries to keep the approaching-obscene moan she gives off when the hot water hits her back quiet. Something in her tiger nature must enhance her love of water, because she’s tempted to just fill the tub and swim in it (God knows the tub is almost big enough for that; thank you, Stark) for awhile. She restricts herself to her usual routine, though: shampoo out the sweat, dirt, and probably blood; condition in the scent of apples and sweetness. Buff puff + body wash and razor, and then she’s ready for a quick scrub with the bar of shea-butter-and-ground-whatevers, to smooth out any bumps on her skin. Lastly, on goes a smear of pink lotion that washes off completely except for the scent, to match her skin to her hair; she tuts out a staccato tune with each dab against her skin, and switches to legato when she smooths the lotion out.

Bucky must’ve used her robe today, because it’s not hanging on the back of the bathroom door. No matter; she’ll be getting into pajamas soon enough and the suite is perfectly climate-controlled, so a towel will do. She wants wavy hair for tomorrow, so she forgoes blow-drying in favor of two braids. She brushes her teeth, swishes some mouthwash, and turns off the bathroom light before she opens the door.

She’s just closed the door behind her when she hears a soft, high whimper, and though her first instinct is that it’s coming from Bucky, once the actual timbre registers, she realizes it’s coming from Steve.

Pancakes looks up, obviously affronted, when Steve’s body begins to screw up just as much as his face. She crawls off of him, and as Peggy steps forward, Bucky turns slightly onto his side and wraps his other arm around Steve’s neck. With the slightest of tugs, and without opening his eyes, he tucks Steve's head in under his chin.

Peggy just about melts into the floor; as it is she sits at the edge of the bed, next to Waffles, awful quickly. The dim light casts a glow over the two men, and in it she can see Steve's expression start to relax, and his body shuffle closer to Bucky's. For all that he's hard planes and iron will, Steve does love his comfort. As well he might; he's been wound so tight for the past three years, and even more so in the past several months, that Peggy's been half-expecting to see his skin crack open.

Bucky worries about it, no matter how much Peggy exhorts him not to. But that’s James Buchanan Barnes for you; he wouldn’t know how to focus on himself if someone gave him an instruction manual. He’s probably getting as much relief out of snuggling Steve like he’s a favorite teddy bear as Steve is. At the very least it must activate some muscle memory. Steve’s told her all about Bucky sleeping over at his place in winter, when they could abandon the floored couch cushions and share a bed under the pretext of it being too cold to sleep apart.

Peggy settles her hand on someone’s foot; the covers obscure which man’s it is, though she can tell by the blankets’ dips and angles that their legs are entwined. Curled up around each other like this, they look like little boys, maybe even younger than they were when they met. 

Sometimes she imagines herself being with them back then. Her family had entertained the notion of a move to America once or twice, though only in fun; fancy if any of them had been serious. She would probably have been Bucky’s neighbor rather than Steve’s, given their families’ respective financials. Perhaps they would have been friends, and she’d have popped over to visit him the same day Steve first knocked on the door. Perhaps she would have been his one consistent ally at school against his step-cousins, and another body between Steve and his bully du jour. She doesn’t want to be so vain as to think that she could have served them better than they did each other, but she could have made life easier for them, at least. Same as if she'd only have pressed harder to go out on field missions with the Commandos, or defied the denial to that request, she might have...

She closes her eyes and breathes as deeply as she can. She doesn't allow Steve to entertain _what ifs_ ; she shouldn't indulge in them herself. She shot down two dozen Hydra agents today, and ripped apart at least eight others. That counts for something. It has to.

She lifts herself off the bed and goes to her dresser, but the sound of the drawer opening must be the crowning evidence of her presence, because a sideways glance shows her when Bucky tilts his head back and cracks open a bleary eye.

"Hey gorgeous," she makes out of the groggy rasp that comes forth from his mouth.

“How long you been home?” Steve mumbles into Bucky’s shoulder. 

"Fifteen minutes; twenty, tops,” Peggy says, pulling a nightgown out of the drawer. “Avert your eyes, gentlemen.”

They do as bade, making sleepy laughterlike noses—such _boys_ —and Peggy shimmies into the nightgown. Steve scooches closer to Bucky to make room for her; Bucky clumsily stretches the comforter out so she has a share. Peggy’s hardly settled herself before Steve’s reached back for her hand and brought it up close to his and Bucky’s faces.

“Um...?”

“Smell good.”

“Soft,” Bucky chimes in, nosing at the back of her hand. 

“[You, Tarzan; me, Jane](http://www.thisdayinquotes.com/2010/03/weissmuller-me-tarzan-you-jane.html?m=1),” Peggy quips in a comically low pitch. She kisses the back of Steve’s neck, and tweaks Bucky’s nose between her index and middle fingers. “Try to go back to sleep now, ape men. Sorry I woke you.”

“Nn. Sleep best when you’re here, anyway.”

Peggy tilts her head up, squinting at them. “Really?”

“We never told you that?” Steve asks, craning his neck to look at her. She shakes her head. “Well. ‘s’true.”

A pleasant warmth rises in Peggy’s chest. Steve recieves a tiny bite to his shoulder, and Bucky an equally tiny tug on his hair, that lets them know she’s somewhere beyond flattered, in that indescribable place only soulmates can grant entry to. Bucky moves his metal arm, so it lays across both his bedmates; Steve curls his fingers around Peggy’s hand, entrapping it in his palm.

She stays awake as long as she can, keeping vigil for any further signs of distress from either man. She figures that, given everything, it’s the least she can do for them. 

She resolves, though, when both have remained sound asleep long enough for her own eyelids to droop, and her head to insist on gravitating towards the pillow, that it won’t be the most.


End file.
